Blurred Reflections
by Theater Raven
Summary: Oneshot. Sweeney Todd returns home after years of exile to find his faithful friends and memories plague him. Based on the film of the Stephen Sondheim musical.


**Blurred Reflections**

He watched as Mrs. Lovett took away the loose floorboard and pulled out the box. He opened it, staring at the neat, crisp little row of straight silver lines, silver lines that looked like the edges of a moonlit sea.

"My faithful friends . . ."

Sweeney pulled out one of the razors and opened it, staring at its glistening sheen. He turned the razor so that it became a sliver of a mirror—he could see a cobweb in the corner of the ceiling in the reflection of the blade. He peered at himself through the eyes of his friend and the razor seemed to be smiling at him, smiling as if to say, "Hello, Benjamin. My, you've changed—but I still know it's you". He realized, as he looked at himself, that this was the first time in a long time that he was seeing his reflection.

His hair was unkempt and wild—something quite strange for a barber—and the pain, anguish, and stress that had pressed down upon him over the past several years had caused a white streak to crop up in his otherwise-dark hair. Sweeney's skin was ghostly pale, except for the red rings around his eyes that conveyed he had either not slept in days or that he'd been crying. This image, however, was not as grisly as it may sound. In the eyes of his friend, the pale shadow of his former self that Sweeney had become did not appear so hopeless—rather, the milky specter of Benjamin Barker just appeared very tired.

"I've kept them nice for you, love."

Mrs. Lovett's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"See how shiny they are, dear?" she continued, running her finger carefully across one of the folded-up razors in the box. "Nice and sharp, too—you'll be able to get business done pretty quickly with these."

"Yes," Todd answered, nodding.

His voice sounded far-off, lost in memories, but Mrs. Lovett could tell that, by his answer, Todd wasn't thinking about using the razors for shaving faces. There was a moment of silence, Todd staring into the reflections given by the razor and Mrs. Lovett stealing a look at him since his eyes were diverted and he would not notice.

"Where are my wife and child?" Todd asked hollowly as he cradled the razor blade.

"I've told you where they are, Mr. T," Mrs. Lovett said quietly but Sweeney seemed to not hear her.

"Where are they?" he asked in the same hollow tone, gazing wistfully into the razor as if it were a crystal ball that would tell him the answer. He moved towards the window so that the images in his friend's eye would appear more clearly to him. As he did so, Sweeney saw an image from the street below flash into the silver mirror and he angled the razor so that he could see the image better before it moved. A beggar woman with limp, filthy blond hair was looking up into the shop window—Todd even thought he saw her trying to catch his eye—and then, with a sad shake of her head, she moved down the street.

"Can't have those little buggers buzzing around here," Mrs. Lovett was saying, gesturing to the departing beggar woman. "The shop's already plagued with pests as it is."

As if on cue, a fly buzzed by the window and Mrs. Lovett swatted at it. She missed.

"Pity—he could've gone into a pie," she muttered.

Sweeney was once again gazing at the fuzzy reflection the razor provided him. The beggar woman's face also betrayed years of exhaustion. Her skin was wrinkled, her eyes dully staring, and her hair anything but the usual flowing tresses a man would desire a female companion to have, and yet, something about her face pushed his mind back further into the memories. And in the blurry eye of his friend, the woman's face had been distorted so that it almost resembled . . . hers.

Todd clenched his eyes shut, trying to not fall_ that _far back into the memories, but he couldn't help it. Lucy's face appeared before him in his mind's eye as if he had seen it only yesterday: Her long blond hair, glossy and flowing, curled out from underneath her bonnet, her bright eyes shining like the sun glistened off his razors when they were held at the right angle. Her smile melted his heart every time she used it. And then, of course, memories of Lucy evoked memories of when they met, their courtship, their wedding day, and then, of course, what followed. The sliver of the sun as it set on that day had seemed to smile at the newlyweds, as if it knew what it was ushering in by ending its shift and letting the nighttime come in.

#

Benjamin stood watching the last of the sun slip beneath the horizon. The stars were just starting to come out now, glistening like his razors. He smiled at the thought of his friends. Thanks to them, he had been able to ask Lucy to marry him in the first place—it was due to the money they helped him earn that he was able to afford a living for them both. It had taken him forever to save up enough money before he could actually propose to her with the confidence that he had saved up enough for them to get by for at least a few months, but finally, she was his; finally, they were both wearing gleaming wedding bands.

He held his hand up to the last of the lingering light, the combination of the last of the sunlight and the light of the first twinkling stars glinting off the gold band. His smile was a reflection of the barely-visible crescent moon in the sky. He heard footsteps behind him as Lucy came out to join him on the balcony.

"It's a beautiful night out tonight," she said smiling, taking his hand.

"It's fitting enough," Benjamin replied, gazing at the twinkling stars.

"Fitting enough for what?" she asked flirtatiously.

He turned to her with a smile as sly and crafty as one of his unfolded razors.

"I think you know what I mean, my dear."

He took her hand, leading her back through the open doorway.

#

Sweeney grimaced. His friend's eye caught this expression and it seemed to shed a tear as the blurriness seemed to increase for a fleeting second.

"I know you remember—I remember, too," the razor seemed to say.

"Yes," Todd murmured to it.

"She was beautiful."

"I know. She was . . . she was . . ."

There was a pause in this internal conversation and then,

"I can't believe she's gone. I can't believe what she did to herself. I can't believe that _he_—."

Sweeney's blood temperature instantly shot to boiling point as a thousand horrific images flashed through his mind. He remembered the look on the face of Judge Turpin as he was dragged away by the guards . . . his face was so malicious, so lustful. . . he could see the intent in the judge's eyes . . .

Pain shot through Sweeney's head. He pressed his hand against his head, grimacing. Mrs. Lovett's account of her fate kept echoing in his mind like the horrific chorus of a loathsome song.

To think of the horrors that had happened to her! And to think that their wedding night had been so different, so beautiful! The contrasts were startling—one was a night of loving passion, of sweetness, of willing surrender . . . the other was theft, a terrifying burglary, an unexpected, humiliating, violent shattering. The judge had seized hold of a precious mosaic tile and shattered it irreparably . . . The image of the beggar woman flashed into Sweeney's mind—her haggard face held barely-visible shadows of beauty that had once been there years ago . . .he wondered what fate_ she_ had suffered . . .

Sweeney squeezed his eyes shut, commanding the tears welling in them to go back down before they became visible. He glanced down at the razor he held, then, at the sleeve of his other arm.

"My friend, will you do me one last service?" he asked the razor in his mind as he gingerly inched the blade, little by little, towards his wrist.

"No, Benjamin, I will not," the razor said firmly. "That is not the answer—it never is. Besides, nothing will come out of death—not_ yours, _anyway."

A smile crossed Sweeney's face as he realized his friend's implication.

"You're right. Soon, my friend, you will be dripping with strings of rubies."

The razor seemed to give him one last smile as Sweeney put it away. He stood, heading back down to the bakery.

"Mrs. Lovett, I suddenly feel like a pie after all," he said in a surprisingly cheery voice as he headed out the door and down the steps.


End file.
